


The Artist's Gaze

by Madtom_Publius



Series: Valley Forge [4]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Artist John Laurens, M/M, Undefined Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madtom_Publius/pseuds/Madtom_Publius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurens had been spending more time than necessary with Hamilton as he finished writing dispatches. One night, Hamilton found out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr by publius-esquire, edited for grammar and tweaked for content.

“Do not keep yourself awake on my account.” Alexander paused his writing to look at his fellow aide beside him, who continued to etch his pencil over the page of his book. The poor man had bags under his red eyes and looked worse for wear; he probably still wasn’t used to the frequent nights that the General expected from his secretaries. He had meant the words in jest, but it was not the first time Laurens had lingered after his work was finished. Hamilton had once feared he might feel jealous that another aide would share his special duties as a translator, or that he would find the man boring or dull, but John had instead proven to be a lively and intelligent bed companion, and it was becoming clear they saw eye-to-eye on many things. 

 

In his practically unconscious state, it had taken John a moment to realize he had been spoken to. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

 

“You shouldn’t be awake longer than you must,” Alexander advised, dipping his pen in the inkwell. “General Washington might call you extra early on the morrow, so you’d best rest when you are able.”

 

Laurens rubbed his bloodshot eyes with his knuckles, but his shoulders slumped over heavily. “In a moment then,” he insisted before going back to scribbling in his copy book, looking up occasionally at Hamilton, who had simply shrugged and went about quickening his work with the last dispatch. Business between Laurens and his father must have been extreme for him to dedicate as many nights as he had, sharing a dim candle with Alexander, who couldn’t honestly deny he enjoyed the company. 

 

He was engrossed in his work for the next half hour, and hadn’t noticed until he had completed the letter that John had leaned over the table and fallen asleep. Alexander would have laughed at his friend’s stubbornness, but in the orange hue of the candlelight, it struck him how peaceful he seemed; John’s face always reflected a certain intenseness along with his unassuming smile but it had also become apparent to Hamilton that he carried a weight upon his brow. And more than once now he’d seen how that brow could be even more troubled in the late of night, for truly the only complaint he had of his bedmate was that night terrors would seize him and have him flailing so hard both men would be jolted awake. He didn’t hold it against his friend; even brave men were haunted by ghosts from time to time, as he understand better than he wanted. 

 

But dozing over his desk, John looked remarkably at peace, and it was such a shame to disturb that, though he couldn’t very well leave him asleep on his chair.

 

As he moved to shake his arm, Alexander’s eyes fell on the letter book John had been working from. Blue-violet eyes widened in surprise. What he’d thought - and had been told - were messages being written to the senior Laurens in Congress, were in fact a series of sketches. How interesting. He’d seen a few crude drawings of flora and fauna, so he’d known Laurens was something of an artist, but he hadn’t known he could draw the human face so well. And how surprised Alexander was still as he realized that all of the profiles were his own. Biting his bottom lip softly, Hamilton stared in wonder and uncertainty at the level of detail his friend had captured. Artists were required to best transition what they saw onto paper, but what the artist saw precisely was more significant than anything. Laurens hadn’t simply sketched his portrait, he’d captured his character: the curve of his mouth, the contrast of his nose, the roses of his cheeks; Laurens had studied him not with the cold rigidity of a student, but with the devotion of an admirer. Had he really stayed up late these past nights for such an intimate reason?

 

Alexander’s fingers fidgeted as he looked back to his sleeping comrade; was it possible that he…. He shouldn’t let his thoughts wander to such things again. He had left that part of him behind in Christiansted. But then this surely wasn’t the same. Laurens seemed to possess every manly virtue enviable and practically emitted honor from his person. There was no way he could be grouped in with those satyrs. 

 

But then perhaps he was looking for deeper meaning where none existed. Maybe his friend simply appreciated his fine features and wanted to practice his hobby while keeping him company. But why the pretense, if that were true?

 

His mind darted with possibilities. John had mentioned being exposed to European sensibilities while abroad; how far had those transpired? And he had heard nothing of Laurens being married, nor had John even seemed to express interest in entertaining the misses around camp. Was it possible that such desires for male intimacy stirred in his choice bedmate as well?

 

Doubt pervaded Hamilton’s mind as he gently shut the sketchbook. He had hoped to find camaraderie in this military family, the sort of brotherhood forged by war. He hadn’t expected to feel these dormant longings for a deeper sort of friendship again. But the more he thought on it, the more those feelings dug themselves out of the hole he had tried to bury them in. Laurens was certainly the most handsome fellow he’d set his sight on, and had at least a hundred times the virtue; a true gentleman. There was much to love in this man.

 

But what if he was wrong? What if John’s affections were warm but proper? Was he prepared to ruin a friendship to risk turning it into something so…unnatural? Surely Laurens would make his intentions known soon. Perhaps all he wanted was permission. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally authored by Madtomedgar. originally posted: http://madtomedgar.tumblr.com/post/78923387301/lams-fic-follow-up-to-this-by-publius-more

Looking up from the late-night dispatches, Hamilton noticed his bedmate once more doing something besides letter-writing in his book. “My dear Laurens, I knew you were educated in the European sensibilities, but I’d no idea you were an artist.”

Closing his copy book too rapidly, John attempted to deflect his friend’s teasing inquiry. “Where did you get either of those ideas?” It was probably one of the plants he’d sketched out of boredom that Hamilton had seen, and they’d been friends long enough for him to know that Alexander would sometimes latch onto hints at accomplishments and blow them out of proportion, engaging in a mildly irritating combination of interrogating and fantasizing until he lost interest or was called away. Surely this was just another example.

But that gaze universally reserved for when one knows someone else’s embarrassing secret and is fully intent on tormenting them with the knowledge was steadily fixed on him. There was a wicked mischief in the curve of Alexander’s mouth, a paradoxically friendly and predatory glint in his eyes as he leaned closer, smug in the knowledge that his prey could not escape that had a defensive peevishness brewing in John. “Oh, there’s no need to be modest. Only an artist could have captured my face so well, and only a man of such _sensibilities_ would have lavished such time on his _friend_.”

Blood rushed to Laurens’ face in mortification. He’d been caught red-handed in his… in whatever it was and… “Those were private! You had no right to go snooping through my copy-book. Did no one ever teach you that it was rude to read other people’s correspondence?” Perhaps if he hid the strange pit, the disproportionate panic he felt on such innocent drawings being seen behind righteous bluster Hamilton would have the decency to admit that he’d been wrong to look at them.

His fellow aide only laughed. “I should think that if I have a right to anything I have a right to my own face. Perhaps we should enumerate that in our new code of laws. So, do you find me _pleasing_ as a model? Are my features _sublime_ enough for your brush?” The playful quirk of Hamilton’s eyebrow joined infuriatingly with his suggestive tone.

Laurens responded more harshly than he meant to, confused as to where this great swell of fear and antagonism was coming from. “This isn’t funny! How am I to trust you now that you’ve invaded my privacy like this?” He willed him to just stop playing and leave it, whatever it was, be. At this point he’d even be willing to discuss the sketches if Hamilton would just stop playing like that. As if it were a game.

Instead Alexander laughed harder. “Invaded your privacy? John, you’re acting like a girl who’s had her love letters peeped at! Though speaking of the fairer sex, I don’t believe you’ve lavished half the attention on them as you did on my _nose_. Is there no fair creature who can tempt my Pythias?” Hamilton’s laughing at his own jokes only increased his friend’s discomfort.

Laurens flung himself out of his chair. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense!” he grumbled as he stormed out.


End file.
